In the tradition of UK drabbles, this is a story that is exactly 100 words.
Someone is following me. I only catch glimpses of a man in the shadows behind me whenever I steal a glance, but I know that something is wrong.
I quicken my pace down the dimly-lit street. San Francisco winds slip through my jacket, and the occasional car drives by cold and impersonal as if there is no driver.
A homeless woman huddled in a doorway says, “Stop stalking him.”
Confused, I look ahead.
Half a block up, a man in the shadows steals a glance back at me with fear on his face. When he sees me, he quickens his pace.
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